


too tired to give a fuck (literally!)

by Corvid404



Series: wanna see how hard i can self-project onto dream? [2]
Category: Dream SMP - Fandom
Genre: Clay | Dream Has ADHD (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream-centric (Video Blogging RPF), Drunk George, Drunk Sapnap, Fluff, M/M, Multi, Rated M for Sexual Themes, Sober Dream, no beta we die like george in manhunt, poly dream team
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-24
Updated: 2021-02-24
Packaged: 2021-03-15 03:35:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,741
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29677806
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Corvid404/pseuds/Corvid404
Summary: After a party, Clay is tired, George is passed out, and Nick is horny. Nothing bad happens, and they're content with the situation in the morning.
Relationships: Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound/Sapnap (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream/Sapnap (Video Blogging RPF)
Series: wanna see how hard i can self-project onto dream? [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2180787
Comments: 8
Kudos: 164





	too tired to give a fuck (literally!)

**Author's Note:**

> this kinda ended up being more fluffy than anything, but i am an absolute sucker for simple sweet stories so here. the horny bit only takes up about 1/3 of the fic but then again that was never the point of this lol.

The party had gone exactly how Clay had guessed it would: Nick and George immediately bolted for the drinks table, and any time someone asked why he didn’t join them he’d dangle his car keys in their face. Besides, _someone_ had to keep the two from doing anything idiotic or stumbling off never to be seen again. He’d spent the majority of the time floating between corners to follow his boyfriends at a distance, stepping in occasionally to keep the two from drunkenly fighting each other, and finding other sober people to chat with. His boys were fun and all, but drinking was never and would never be his thing, and he was only there to make sure they got home safely—nothing was safer than his own car. Karl and Alex were more than enough company for them, and he found his place by Wilbur and Dave.

A huge weight was lifted off his shoulders as he stood in front of their shared home’s front door, focused on the soft jingle of his keys in the doorknob as he unlocked it and not the heavy scent of alcohol still wafting off his boyfriends. He’d never been more glad that they all agreed to keep seperate bedrooms than times like this.

He did his best not to immediately drop onto the couch when he walked through and into the living room, leaving the spot open for whichever drunk boy wanted it, instead trudging along the hallway towards his bedroom. Part of him wanted to stay back and ensure that they drank water and ate something before they passed out, but a much more exhausted and much louder part told him it was time for bed. There’d been so many people and so much noise and so many flashing lights, it’d taken all of his willpower not to leave and sit in the quiet of his car until they wanted to leave. He’d had enough stimulus in three or four hours to last a week, and the quiet of his own home was very much needed.

The door shut behind him with a soft _clunk_ , and he made quick work of changing into his pjs before dropping face-first onto his bed. At last, _peace and quiet._ He nestled himself under the covers, focused on calming his heart with slow breaths and not the obnoxious clatter still going on in the other rooms.

He wasn’t sure exactly how much time had passed with him sitting in the dark counting his breaths when he was pulled out of his dozing by his door being hastily shoved open and heavy footsteps stumbling in. Clay could hardly mask his groan of annoyance as he lazily rolled onto his back, halfway propping himself up on his elbows to look at which drunken disaster had stumbled in: Nick. In the dim backlight from the hallway, he somehow looked _worse_ than up close, his clothes rumpled and his shirt splattered with stains.

He barely got out, “Dude, go to your room, I don’t want you here,” before the other practically dropped his body on top of him and pulled him into the most disgustingly sloppy kiss he’d had since high school. He barely held back a gag at the bitter taste of alcohol on the other’s tongue as he shoved him back. “Nick. _No._ I’m not doing this right now.”

The younger audibly whined—he fucking _whined_ —in frustration, settling his legs on either side of his hips in a sad attempt at straddling him. “ _Please_ , Dream, George passed out and-”

He continued to sit up and shove his boyfriend out of his face, keeping his arm between them. “Dude, you’re drunk. The sex wouldn’t even be _good_ , and you’d probably pass out halfway through.”

His continued denial didn’t stop Nick from grinding his hips against him, hands landing on his shoulders in a lame attempt to push him back down with a pathetic, “Please?”

Clay shook his head, cementing his decision as he easily rolled Nick into the spot in the bed next to him before dropping back into his own. He just wanted to _sleep._

He’d barely gotten his eyes shut again when he felt hot breath on his neck, and a hand instinctively flew back to swat the other away with a grumble of, “Cut it the fuck out.”

Nick groaned, a leg wrapping around his waist. “Claaay, _pleeaase?_ I’ll take anything.” His voice was breathy and oh-so-desperate, begging in just the right tone to almost make him second-guess his decision.

_Almost._

He half-way sat up again, staring down at his boyfriend lazily trying to pull himself up to meet his lips—a gesture that took very little effort to push away. He looked cute in the dim light from the still open door, his face flushed pink and his pupils dilated—he preferred when it was because of _him_ though, not external factors. As fun and as tempting as it would be to entertain him, not only did he not have the energy for it, but it felt plain _wrong._ He’d never been drunk, not the way Nick and George got drunk, so he would never really understand the state of mind, but he didn’t need to understand it to know that he’d be taking advantage of him if they did anything at all.

He sighed, a hand ruffling the other’s hair. “If you’re so horny, just jerk off. I don’t care as long as you don’t touch me.” He settled the situation with a far more dramatic than needed statement of, “I’m going to sleep.”

With the situation settled enough for his liking, Clay flopped back onto his side and drifted off to sleep with one of Nick’s arms draped over him—he could tolerate that. As long as he wasn’t directly involved in whatever Nick’s other hand was doing. He fell asleep to the soft sounds of his boyfriend gasping and moaning down his neck, faintly aware of his own name being whispered at odd intervals.

And, as he predicted, Nick thanked him in the morning for his barely-awake judgement.

He’d woken up fairly early, all things considered, the time on his phone searing _9:32 am_ into his retinas. In the night, Nick had managed to wrap both arms around him, face nuzzled between his shoulder blades with a leg similarly kicked over him. If not for the one-cat chorus of mewls erupting in the kitchen as Patches somehow knew one of her humans had woken up, he could have dozed back off in his boyfriend’s embrace. Still, he knew better than to leave Patches to her screaming, and carefully untangled himself from the one-man cuddle pile that was none other than Nick.

Goal one for the morning was to quiet the cat before she woke the other two up, his main concern being George who was passed out face-down on the couch. Every sound still felt far too loud, even his socked footsteps on the kitchen tile sent shockwaves through his ears, and the sound of dry food hitting plastic was even worse.

Goal two was to make two cups of tea and one cup of coffee—coffee for himself, tea for his boys. Somewhere between turning on the electric kettle and methodically preparing all the ingredients, a familiar set of arms wrapped around his waist.

“Mmmmornin’,” Nick cooed, giggling as he kissed Clay's neck. Next came the expected but no less heavy question, “So, uh. What happened last night after we got home?”

Clay shrugged. “Nothing. You tried coming onto me but I kinda told you to fuck off.” His voice was barely above a whisper, still laced with sleep.

He felt the other nod into his shoulder before planting another kiss. “Ok, yeah, I was, um. A little concerned I did something-”

He silenced his boyfriend’s worries by turning around and leaning down to plant a kiss on his nose. “Like I’d let that happen,” he replied, smiling as Nick struggled to sputter out his thanks.

As he moved to attend to the whistling kettle, he continued with a shrug, “I hope you’d do the same for me.”

Both heads turned to hear George mumbling something incoherent to himself as he joined his boyfriends in the kitchen, the expression of sheer exhaustion pulling a small laugh from Clay.

“You look like you fared about as well as Sap,” he snickered, pouring water into the mugs and earning a sleepy groan from George.

“For real, though,” Nick interjected, “I didn’t like… _do_ anything to you, did I?”

Clay shook his head, lifting himself up to sit on the counter. “You weren’t hard to shove off, and if you didn’t leave me alone I would’ve just gone to your room to sleep instead.”

Satisfied with that, the other reached to take his cup of tea. The minutes passed in quiet, each enjoying their morning. A space normally filled with lazy chatter was rendered silent—not that he was complaining, it was a much-still-needed quiet, brain still recovering from the events of the night prior. They sat, eyes trained on their phones, mugs of tea and coffee in their respective hands, bathing in each other’s company as Patches danced around their legs. 

Clay was the first to move, leaving a now-empty mug on the counter as he left to clean up whatever was in the living room. George had a bad habit of just kicking his shoes off wherever then complaining when he couldn’t find them, and he figured that somewhere in the disaster of coming home Nick had probably dropped something in the entry area. His mission was immediately side-tracked by the allure of sitting on the couch, and it wasn’t long before he was joined by his boys, some random morning show on the TV as idle chatter started up between them.

Nothing bad had happened. There was no pressure to make up for last night’s disaster, the issue completely forgotten by noon. George disappeared at some point to stream something, and Nick left not long after as he got a Discord call from Karl and Quackity, leaving Clay to retreat into his room. The rest of the day passed in a blur of subdued, quiet calls with understanding friends and editing recordings.

Nothing bad had happened, and as long as George and Nick were on his watch, nothing bad was _going_ to happen, and he was content with that.


End file.
